Heaven or Paul Schrader

Emulsified in a strangely familiar slick, your thoughts aimlessly wander in disarray, unsure where or why you are. While desperately tracing through the fog a inexplicable flicker of hope relays that soon critical synaptic events will fire to bridge the gulf of confusion. In that warped corridor of time a strange irritable buzzing vibrates through your cochlea. Effervescent heckling outlines the limits of piss-soaked metropolis’s, eating fancy in New York, advanced jean hustling techniques, circumcision strategies, putting respect on tailors, Aragorn in Eastern Promises, Salmon Ego Death, the Belgians, and Mediterranean Wedding escapism before your minds valves release, expelling its sewage & smothering the disorientation. Your torso surges forward from its sweat soaked crevice, in this refound wisdom it becomes clear- that you can finally taste the blood between your teeth.